To Make a Choice
by UnnamedElement
Summary: Elrond and Gandalf ask Legolas and Ithildim (captain of Mirkwood's Southern Defense) to stay in Rivendell after the Council of Elrond. Among some, there is debate over whether a grandson of Oropher should be sent toward Mordor, and then debate within Legolas himself as he decides whether his duty lies with his King, or with all of ne of these are easy choices to make. HIATUS
1. Part 1: Impatience

**Author's note:** I am a fan of canon. That being said, many characters in Tolkien's world lend themselves to a much wider interpretation of canon than his more well-developed characters allow (ones who Tolkien himself admitted were created as an afterthought; Legolas, for example). I stick to canon as far as history-dates, events, and places-go, but in this story I take liberty with my OC, and seek to fill in the long gap between November and December that-besides some narrative about the hobbits and Gandalf-is lacking in the books. I hope you enjoy this three-part story about Elrond's selection of the Elvish representative for the Nine Walkers.

 **Disclaimer:** Do not own.

* * *

 **To Make a Choice: Part 1**

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 _"Despair or folly?" said Gandalf. "It is not despair, for despair is only for those who see the end beyond all doubt. We do not. It is wisdom to recognize necessity, when all other courses have been weighed, though as folly it may appear to those who cling to false hope. Well, let folly be our cloak, a veil before the eyes of the Enemy! For he is very wise, and weighs all things to a nicety in the scales of his malice. But the only measure that he knows is desire, desire for power; and so he judges all hearts. Into his heart the thought will not enter that any will refuse it, that having the Ring we may seek to destroy it. If we seek this,we shall put him out of reckoning."  
_

 _"At least for a while," said Elrond. "The road must be trod, but it will be very hard. And neither strength nor wisdom will carry us far upon it. This quest may be attempted by the weak with as much hope as the strong. Yet such is oft the course of deeds that move the wheels of the world: small hands do them because they must, while the eyes of the great are elsewhere."_

 _-"The Council of Elrond," page 353, The Fellowship of the Ring (1982 Ballantine Books edition)_

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 **TA 3018, December 1**

It was barely dawn, and the last stars had just faded out of the sky. Grey fog clung to the earth, slipping around the tree branches and grey carven walls of Imladris; it faded into humid transparency as the sun rose. Beneath a dark middle-aged oak, near a wall, sat an elf, which was not in itself at all unusual in Rivendell—it was the particular elf who made it so, for he was not from Imladris, and his face bore marked consternation for one reclining against a tree in a hidden valley, at dawn and alone, before the haven truly woke. The elf wore a simple blue-green tunic, the color of ancient lichen, and silvery-brown breeches, and his hair hung heavy and loose—unbraided—about his face.

The strange elf in question was Legolas Thranduillion of Mirkwood. Legolas' lower back was pressed against the bole of the oak, and he leaned forward at the hips with his knees pulled close to his body so his feet were tucked under them—criss-cross at the ankles—with his elbows rested on his splayed thighs. His hands dangled as he spun a short knife between his fingers—back and forth, in and out, back and forth, and its blade caught every so often on the light from the rising sun and sent streaks of silver dancing to the legs of the bench across from him. Legolas watched the blade absently, tossing it gently every few beats to keep himself paying attention, and eventually he sighed.

He would have much rather taken out his frustration and anxious energy with his knife on the training fields, but he had quit carrying it after a week in Imladris, and had not thought to bring a practice blade on his walk this morning. The Mirkwood delegation seemed to make the Noldor jumpy when they carried weapons on their person in the dining hall, or on walks about the grounds, or even just sitting—without a shred of animus—in the Hall of Fire, so Legolas and his friends had begun to leave them in their rooms, in cultural consideration to the elves of Imladris; it was apparently customary for Elrond's warriors to leave their weapons at the armory as soon as they entered his gates.

Legolas conceded to his commander on this partly because he had been given an order and would not disobey, but largely because, Legolas admitted, he had tired of suspicious glares and annoyed glances, and was not so skilled at hiding his emotions to stop himself glaring back at his Noldorin kin on more than one occasion. But Legolas could not entirely drop the habit of carrying a blade with him, especially if Ithildim expected him to let his guard down enough to act as a good representative of his father, so he had kept this tiny instrument tucked into his belt as if it were but a pocketknife.

Now, however, it seemed as though Legolas had been _too_ good of a representative, for Lord Elrond had requested him stay on in Imladris for a time. He had not at all intended this with Mirkwood's army so thinly stretched and himself and Ithildim responsible for a division of the southern defensive batallion. He had written Commander Lostariel and the Elvenking at once when met with the request—which honestly felt like more of an order—and had hoped maybe Ithildim, Saida, and her two warriors might deliver it when they departed. However, once it became clear that they too would not be leaving so soon, Legolas sent the letter by hawk, and hoped the bird would have enough sense to fly above the treeline and thus avoid being eaten by an accursed spider. If his father did not get word of their location while they tarried in Rivendell, he would be furious, and Lostariel did not have any elves to spare to send out toward Rivendell in search of them.

After a week, Saida and the two young soldiers also left—summoned back by Lieutenant Amonhir in a missive that was not so polite—so now only Legolas and Ithildim lingered, Mithrandir having approached Ithildim one morning at breakfast, bidding him stay through the Fellowship's departure. As Mithrandir swept up to their table in the corner of the hall, Legolas dropped the apple he had just selected and, with a spoon of porridge halfway to his mouth, Ithildim froze. Legolas and Ithildim were unfazed by goblins on their doorstep or spiders that dropped from the trees onto their very heads, but of Mithrandir they had learned to be wary, and they did not argue with him anymore as a rule. So Ithildim nodded mutely as Legolas ducked beneath the table to seek his apple, and Mithrandir huffed, and said "Good."

A breeze ruffled the oak's dropped, leathery leaves, damp from the morning frost. Legolas flipped the knife up higher and it spun thrice before coming back down; he grabbed it at its base and then flicked it sideways, starting up his pattern again.

He, Ithildim, Saida and two of her novice warriors had first left for Imladris on October tenth; they arrived by the nineteenth. They were to deliver a message of failure—Legolas' failure, though Ithildim also tried to shoulder some of the blame. Mirkwood did not meddle anymore in the affairs of other elven or mortal lands, and so Legolas had only insisted on delivering the message himself to honor his father's respect for Mithrandir and his own duty to Aragorn, and Thranduil luckily agreed that Legolas alone—being largely responsible for the creature's escape and its guards' deaths—deserved to face Mithrandir or Elrond's ire. The company successfully recounted the events, though they had been asked to sit on it until Elrond held council on the twenty-fifth, to which only Legolas was invited.

And so while it was the general opinion of Mirkwood that their own problems with Sauron were great enough to excuse risking their involvement in the rest of Middle-earth's fight for freedom, Legolas himself was not necessarily of this isolationist view. But he and the army were so exhausted by the endless stream of horror that was now commonplace in their forest that he could not risk any energy to even think on anything else. Legolas had barely had the time or resources to coordinate searches for the creature in the summer months, and by August—when all trace of it seemed to disappear into thin air—his elves were resentful and bone-weary, in their bodies and their souls. He had failed them all fairly spectacularly.

And now it was the first of December, and still Legolas sat in the safety of Imladris, while he and Ithildim's fill-in captains led their unit without their leaders, all because Elrond would "have their counsel" (which he hadn't done yet). After the Council on the twenty-fifth of October, Elrond had sent out his sons and Aragorn and some other elves to the rangers in the North, and maybe even to Thranduil and his own folk, but even then, Elrond held them in Rivendell—did Elrond think that if he allowed the Mirkwood elves to leave, that they would not come back at all to help if summoned? Legolas did not know.

He quit flipping his blade and grasped its tiny handle between thumb and forefinger, sighting the base of a pussywillow deadened for the winter twelve or so meters down the path. He flicked the blade precisely and it spun tightly end over end until it embedded in the base of the bush with a thwacking sound.

Legolas stretched out his legs and crossed them at the ankles, and let his back and head fall against the tree trunk ungracefully, with a second heavy sigh. He studied the emptied branches above him and closed his eyes. Being here in this utter calm—while every other realm of Middle-earth, including their own, crumbled around them—was exhausting. Legolas felt angry and ashamed and a little humiliated.

A few moments later there was a gentle displacement of air beside him before a warm body settled against his; Legolas did not need to open his eyes to know who it was.

"Ithildim," Legolas said, lifting a hand off his lap and patting Ithildim on the knee, feeling the relief in Ithildim's body as he relaxed into the tree and his shoulder touched comfortably against Legolas' own.

"Legolas," Ithildim replied, clapping Legolas on his thigh gently. "I do not think Elrond or his people would be happy to see you skewering their flora so early in the morning."

Legolas opened his eyes and turned his head slightly to look sidelong at Ithildim, whose deep taupe hair was braided back tightly from the sides and fell onto a dark goldenrod tunic; Ithildim too wore silvery-brown leggings, but also a dangerously impish grin. At this movement of Legolas' head, his unsecured hair caught on the oak's bark and tangled in its deep grooves. Legolas leaned forward and scowled, trying to unstick it, but it only served to trouble the strands further.

"I did not _skewer_ it, Ithildim. One skewers an orc in battle, or a hare to roast over the fire. I do not know that it is possible to skewer a bush with a blade shorter than one's own finger."

Ithildim exclaimed, "And this coming from a prince of the forest! Not _possible_ to skewer a plant? Have you no respect for another lord's trees?"

"It is but a pussywillow bush; it is hardly large enough to skewer," Legolas replied, fingers mercilessly digging at a tangle; he tried to pull the bit of hair far enough around his head so that he could see the offending knot to deal with it, but he was not successful. "Still, I _am_ sorry I hurt it."

Ithildim laughed. "I know you are, my friend. You must be very frustrated to have skewered it."

"I am," Legolas said, rolling his eyes at his own hair and dropping his hands to his lap with a small huff. "And now I shall spend the rest of my time amidst our cultured brethren with a bird's nest on the back of my head! It will be amusing for them."

Ithildim pushed at Legolas' shoulder with his hands. "Let me do it. You do look a bit like a wild little wood-elf yet; no braids in your hair and tucked underneath an oak with dirt on your knees, and bare feet. What a disgraceful sight."

Legolas laughed. Ithildim smiled and crawled onto his knees; he pushed Legolas away from the tree until he responded and shifted himself forward. Ithildim slipped into the space between Legolas and the base of the tree and spread his legs to either side of his friend, scooting close enough to see his task. Legolas sat again cross-legged but he kept his back very straight as Ithildim worked at the knot.

"This is why you should always leave your hair in braids, my friend."

"I know. It is unfair. If you get the knot out, will you braid it down? I can do yours if you wish."

Ithildim laughed, releasing the matted knot with a final twitch of his fingers. "Unlike you," he said, "I prepare myself completely for the day before I leave my room in the mornings. I do not need your help to remember to braid my own hair."

Legolas brought his elbow back sharply and knocked Ithildim in the ribs. "You are unkind."

"No worse than you!" he laughed, braiding Legolas' hair back with practiced fingers until all of it was woven tight to his head except for the tail of it. He finished the braid and held the end in one hand, holding his other hand out expectantly over Legolas' shoulder. "Haven't you a tie?"

"I lost it," Legolas shrugged.

"Dear Elbereth, Legolas, where is your mind today?" Ithildim asked.

Legolas handed Ithildim a lace from one sleeve of his tunic. Ithildim took it and wrapped the end of the braid, securing it tightly and tucking in the knot.

"In Mirkwood, Ithildim," said Legolas, undoing the other sleeve and rolling both of them up into cuffs on his forearms, so at least he matched. "My mind is on our borders, with our soldiers and our duty. We have been away for too long, in this time of war. Thank you for helping me to be presentable, Ithildim."

Legolas maneuvered on the grass to face Ithildim, who still had his legs out to the sides and now arranged leaves in a pattern in that wide gap in front of him. Legolas propped his elbows on his knees and dropped his chin into one hand, studying Ithildim.

"What would you have me do, Legolas? We have been told to stay by the Lord of this land, and our own king bid us obey."

Legolas sighed. "There is nothing you can do. I am just so used to you knowing the right decision to make after all these years."

Ithildim looked up sharply from the leaves he had been arranging from green to brown. His hands hovered over a coppery brown leaf in the middle as he met Legolas' gaze.

"When we are in a peaceful place," Ithildim said, "we must stop thinking so much like warriors, and relax. We could heal some here, if we allowed ourselves, and perhaps return home with more fortitude with which to protect our people."

Legolas looked thoughtful, but then said quietly, "I do not think I can relax here."

"And neither can I," agreed Ithildim. "I too am anxious to return to our elves. But you are bitter today, Legolas, and unlike yourself."

Legolas looked down at Ithildim's row of leaves and reached out to switch the order of two with lingering green hues. He continued to touch the leaves lightly as he spoke.

"I told you already—I am frustrated," Legolas began. "What does Lord Elrond want with us here? Yes, we are skilled warriors and leaders, and the Greenwood is dark now and we know much of the habits of the darkness, but we have been here for five weeks and have offered no one any advice at all, besides teaching that small hobbit Peregrin the most efficient way to climb a tree, and giving some lessons in bladework and song to the other halflings, none of which seem like a reason to keep us so long in Rivendell.

"I have read so much and drawn enough maps and troop diagrams that I think my eyes should fall out if I go to the library again! Though I am grateful for the access to such abundant lore and knowledge. And the trees here are so far apart that there is no point in even trying to learn their ways and how to travel between them, and they are so quiet in their speech, like maybe they have been asleep in this peace for a very long time.

"Furthermore," Legolas took a deep breath and continued, "I feel that here—in this moment of great decision—we cannot truly train, we cannot spar; to see battle, even mock, when they have not yet had it greatly afflict their people within a mortal lifetime, but know that it hurtles toward them? It upsets many who are met here. So we are going to forget how to be captains, and we have lost enough elven lives under our command without having to worry about forgetting how to use a bow!"

Legolas finally lifted his hands from the leaves—now in a perfect row, a perfect autumnal spectrum—and looked Ithildim full in the face. Ithildim returned his gaze, as always, providing a calm foil to Legolas' capricious expression.

"I am uncertain and confused. Ithildim!" he exclaimed, "I feel like a sitting duck or a caged animal here! We are not being very useful, to Imladris or to our wood. I would feel fine being here, were we to have answers. Any kind of answers at all."

Legolas' voice had dropped to a rasp by the end, and, in that moment, when Legolas finally stilled enough to keep his gaze latched on his friend's eyes, Ithildim saw Legolas' frustration there—he was worried for their soldiers and his father's kingdom, and his feelings were roiling like a thunderstorm bearing down from the mountains. Legolas was so unwaveringly loyal to his home and his peers; Ithildim would not dream of having anyone else as his second, on and off the field.

"I have my suspicions of the answer we will discover, and it both scares me and gives me hope for the fate of Middle-earth," Ithildim finally spoke. "Your words are true. Perhaps we can ask Mithrandir for some guidance."

Legolas seemed to come back to himself some at the mention of Mithrandir—he straightened his back and his whole bearing lightened. He laughed. "Last time I asked Mithrandir for guidance, he guided me right down a cliff and into a river where I broke my arm."

Ithildim too laughed merrily, "Ai! I had forgotten about that. But we are not always so unlucky with him."

At that moment a great, shallow shadow stetched over them and wrapped up the tree. The was a _humph_. "You are not always so unlucky with whom, little Moon?"

Legolas whipped his head around and Ithildim scrambled to his feet. "Good morning, Mithrandir," he said.

Mithrandir nodded, and reached out a hand to Legolas who was still on the ground. He pulled Legolas to his feet and then pressed a small blade into his hand.

"I believe this belongs to you. You ought not skewer small bushes, even in the winter."

"Nobody seems to know the definition of skewer," Legolas said, shaking his head with a mischeivous smile, eyes downcast. "Thank you for returning it to me, Mithrandir."

Mithrandir jerked his head toward the path near them. "Walk with me, Legolas, Ithildim." The two immediately fell into step on either side of the wizard, and he continued. "I have been listening to the two of you for a few minutes. I did not mean to eavesdrop, per se, but you were there already when I began my stroll, and I wanted to talk to you both, besides. But you do not sound like yourself today, Legolas, and that strikes me as odd. You do not usually carry such heavy resentment."

Legolas shrugged casually. "I usually do not feel such resentment. It is a sensation that I am loathe to learn to deal with."

Mithrandir smiled. "You both still command together, then?"

"Yes, sir," said Legolas and Ithildim at once, the direct question from an elder triggering their training and prompting them respond thusly.

"We do," said Ithildim.

"Ithildim is our head captain in the southern defense, and I am his second," Legolas clarified.

Mithrandir raised an eyebrow. "The southern defense against Dol Guldur?"

"Yes, sir," they said.

Mithrandir smiled again. "Fitting. You have both grown so since our first adventure together. Moonlight and greenleaves; a creature of the day and the night, illuminating one another—you compliment each other well. It would be a pity for you to be separated."

There was silence for a few seconds as Legolas and Ithildim both considered Mithrandir's words as they continued on the path. Legolas could feel but not see Ithildim's agitation on Mithrandir's other side. Legolas decided not to speak; he knew Ithildim was about to.

"Is that likely, Mithrandir?" asked Ithildim. "That we linger here in Imladris while our soldiers risk their lives, so that we might be sundered from one another or our duties in the end?"

Mithrandir stopped walking and put a hand on both Legolas and Ithildim's shoulders. "I lied a little bit earlier about the intentions of my morning stroll. Lord Elrond asked me fetch both of you. We require you in his study for a conversation."

"The counsel for which we have so long been held here, to supposedy provide?" asked Legolas.

"You shouldn't be uncouth, Legolas," Mithrandir said reproachfully. "Impertinence does not often suit you."

Legolas laughed lightly and grasped Mithrandir's arm. "I am sorry, old friend. I will try to be better."

Ithildim looked at Mithrandir warily. "We will come."

"Good," said Mithrandir. "The quicker we get to his office, the quicker I get breakfast, and I find the hobbits' enthusiasm for the meal so very amusing."

Mithrandir swept off again at a significant pace, and Legolas and Ithildim both started, taking a few bounds each to catch up with him, as they headed off to Elrond's study. Legolas realized, too late, that he still was not wearing any shoes.

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 _Thank you for reading thus far! Please consider reviewing._


	2. Part 2a: A Second Council

**Author's Note:** I fixed a mistake in chapter 1 in which I referred to a second elf from Mirkwood being at the Council of Elrond, which is not book canon. This chapter references the Last Alliance and the Battle of the Five Armies. For anyone unfamiliar with the history surrounding the Last Alliance, I would suggest checking out the Tolkien Gateway page or wiki on it. But really, all you need to know is that King Oropher-Thranduil's dad and Legolas' grandfather-charged at the Gates of Mordor before Gil-Galad (who Oropher and his Silvan elves were supposed to be deferring to) gave the command. Oropher was thus killed at the gates of Mordor, and many many MANY of his elves fell, thus diminishing the number of elves at Gil-galad's command, and arguably putting the other elves at risk in the battle. The same thing happened with Amdir, King of Lorien, at the battle of Dagorlad (Dead Marshes); he and his elves were separated from the fray and fell in great number. So the comments about sending a wood-elf to accompany the Ring to Mordor are referring to this, implying that Glorfindel and Erestor would not trust an elf of Mirkwood to not follow the same path as Oropher, for fear of disobedience and failure (the bit about Glorfindel and Erestor is not canon, it's just me).

Note: Erestor is the only named counsellor to Elrond in FotR. Glorfindel, we assume, is the famed Glorfindel of Gondolin, Balrog-slayer.

 **Disclaimer:** Do not own.

* * *

 **To Make a Choice: Part 2, A Second Council**

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 _"You must not go to the Havens, Legolas. There will always be some folk, big or little, and even a few wise dwarves like Gimli, who need you. At least I hope so."_

 _-Meriadoc Brandybuck, "The Last Debate," Return of the King_

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 **The day after the Council of Elrond, and about a month before Part 1  
TA 3018, October 26**

Elrond, Erestor, Glorfindel, Mithrandir, and Aragorn sat around a dark oak table that stretched the length of one side of Elrond's study. The balcony's curtains across the room and to the table's right were pulled wide open, and midmorning sunlight softly illuminated the room's attendees, catching especially on Glorfindel's golden hair and fair face. There was power in this room, and the very air seemed to vibrate with it.

"I believe sending Boromir, Steward of Gondor, would be a show of good faith in these times, especially as Aragorn will seek to return the line of Kings to Gondor when the time is right," said Erestor. "It will do well to have an alliance with the stewards, and Boromir would bring great knowledge of the South to the company as the journey turned that way."

Aragorn nodded. "That is good. But this all seems very political to me," he said, "which is well, and perhaps very wise. Yet should we not also consider the qualities of personality that these companions will bring to the company? Who among men, elves, and dwarves can both valiantly protect against enemies and buoy any of those among the Fellowship who may struggle with despairing sentiments? For this is as much the battle we will face as the lands we traverse and enemies we encounter."

Elrond looked at Aragorn evenly and considered his words. "You ask, then, that we select those who may both protect from outside threats and from threats within the Fellowship, as well as their own minds; that display an ability to temper temptation of the Ring's power and inspire others to do the same."

"I do," said Aragorn. "I believe it necessary to select an elf, a dwarf, or a man—at least one—who posesses these qualities. It could be the difference between hope forlorn and hope inspired, and I could not bear that burden of emotional caregiving all on my own."

Gandalf frowned. "That will require someone who is pure of heart, Aragorn, despite years of battle experience."

"I understand," Aragorn said.

"This will be, then, a mighty task—this selection of the fellowship. For even among elves there are not many who are still pure of heart, so many years have we seen and betrayals we have experienced," said Glorfindel. "We all carry a bitterness in our souls for things we have not been able to change, and many of the Eldar would be drawn to a power like the Ring—as we were in old—that would seemingly allow them to release some long years of their guilt or regret. Still, any elf would dedicate themselves fully to the task of protecting the halflings for as long as their heart and souls were able. I just do not know that from the elves you will find one who is both skilled in resisting the Darkness, and yet still also pure of soul, though it pains me to say so."

"And it will perhaps not be found either in the hearts of Man," agreed Aragorn.

Mithrandir's eyes sparkled as he sat forward in his chair and leaned on the great oak table—his fingers steepled before him—as if he had just remembered something. "There are some elves who face Darkness and survive it whole, those who were born into it and know no other way. To elves not protected by one of the three Rings, and young enough to not remember days of peace, evil is to them normal, and their hearts thus are still merry and whole, for they know no other way to be."

"You speak then," stated Erestor, "of Thranduil's folk, or perhaps the wandering elves of our lands."

"I speak mostly of Thranduil's folk," Mithrandir said calmly, remembering stories of the Last Alliance and predicting the reaction.

Glorfindel stirred in his seat, crossing his legs beneath his great robes. He inclined his head toward Mithrandir and spoke. "You do not mean you would counsel we send a child—a _wood-elf_ child—on the quest? Into the darkness of Mordor? Mirkwood is indeed dark in these days—darker than I even realized of late, after hearing Legolas' account at the Council—and from Dol Goldur bleeds evil, reaching out toward Lorien. But the heart of a Silvan elf to whom such evil is known even so? He or she would not survive a journey into such utter darkness of the enemy."

"Perhaps not," said Mithrandir. "But _none_ that we send may survive at all, and so we must not underestimate the resiliency of Thranduil's folk, Silvan or Sindar or other or both. And so long have they faced the enemy, that many of those born into darkness are—by no measure of the word—children no longer at all."

"Hm," said Elrond. "You give us much to think on, Mithrandir. But let us now consider the easier task of selecting a dwarf, for you know them best, my friend, and we will rely on you to select their representative."

Mithrandir smiled. "I have thought long on this, though not as long as I might have for the answer to me is obvious. For the dwarves will go Gimli son of Glóin."

"That is the young dwarf who was at the Council," said Erestor.

"It is," said Mithrandir. "And he is both a fierce warrior and a kind soul with good humor, who hates all things dark, and is young enough among his kin to withstand desolation. He and his father's predisposition to quarrel with the elves of Mirkwood is unfortunate, but his other qualities make him the most suited for the journey among the dwarves. And the hobbits have taken a liking to him already; they feel an affinity for him because of Glóin, perhaps, and Bilbo."

"Very well," said Elrond. "It is fine with me so long as Aragorn can abide by the decision."

"Aye," said Aragorn, nodding to Mithrandir with a smile. "If Gandalf finds him stout and wise, then so must I!"

Erestor looked thoughtful. "Back to the elves," he said. "If the hobbits are so fond of Gimli because of his connection to Bilbo and the dwarves' adventure through the Misty Mountains and Mirkwood to Dale and Erebor, can _they_ abide a wood-elf on the journey? I do not know that Bilbo came to trust Thranduil's folk, and I would not want to send a representative of Thranduil—especially a son—if it would cause discontent along the path."

Mithrandir laughed and Aragorn smiled. Mithrandir spoke. "Bilbo came to love the Elvenking, and forgave their intitial distrustfulness, for he understood the dangers in their woods and the duty of the king to protect his people. I believe Bilbo and Thranduil may even now maintain a correspondence."

The elves of Rivendell looked surprised, but then laughed.

"That is strange, and strange is the power of the halflings to heal the hearts from hurt!" said Elrond. "But I will not say I am as surprised as I felt at first, for Thranduil's line has always been unpredictably independent."

The smile fell on both the faces of Glorfindel and Erestor, and their eyes seemed to Aragorn to darken. "We remember as well as you do," said Glorfindel, "the destruction that such independence wrought at the Black Gates and Dagorlad during that great war against Sauron. Perhaps not an elf from Mirkwood, then."

Mithrandir studied them, and Aragorn sat in silence, watching some of the most powerful beings of the Third Age remember ancient events; it was not his place to speak.

"But you would send one of the Galadhrim despite their own missteps against Sauron in the Second Age?" asked Elrond.

"I would send an elf from Rivendell," said Glorfindel. "Or the Grey Havens, if there are any mighty enough there. But we have many wise elves here, who could serve the company well."

Aragorn drummed his fingers on the table, thinking. "So we are decided on the dwarf, and are we decided on the man? Boromir of Gondor?"

"We are," said Elrond. The others murmered their agreement.

"And I will go on the journey, despite my own ancestor Isildur's mighty failure at the fires of Mount Doom," continued Aragorn, "yet we will not send an elf who has been ruled by Oropher or Thranduil because of a choice made over 3000 years ago?"

"There are more generations between Isildur and yourself than there are between any elf and Oropher," said Erestor, in the even and impartial voice of a skilled advisor.

"This is true," said Aragorn. "But in this Third Age of the Sun—and please forgive me if I speak out of turn—I do not think it prudent to hold onto the elves' long and storied histories. It matters not whether the Sindar distrust the Noldor, or the Noldor and Valyar the Sindar; it does not matter all these names you have given each other since the days of the awakening—Noldor and Sindar, Avari and Teleri, moriquendi and grey-elves, or Tawarwaith or Penni or laegrim. This is not a time for distrust—we are united against the same great foe. If one of Thranduil's folk is most suited to defend us from evil—from within and without the Fellowship—on this journey—folly as it may or may not be—then it is one of Thranduil's folk who should go."

There was silence. Mithrandir smiled at Aragorn. He would make such a fine leader.

"You are wise, Estel, Aragorn son of Arathorn, heir to the thrown of Gondor," said Elrond fondly. "We will send an elf of Mirkwood. It will also do much to repair years of distrust, to which such an unprotected realm is perhaps entitled."

Aragorn nodded.

"I know several elves from Mirkwood who have provided substitute to magical protection these past millenia," said Mithrandir. "Two of them are here with us now, in Imladris, though they were planning to leave by midday to return to their duties at home."

"You speak of Thranduilion, Oropher's grandchild, whose over-kindliness allowed the creature called Gollum to escape," said Glorfindel.

"I do," said Mithrandir. "Legolas and the captain of the Southern Defense, Ithildim Anarion, are both strong warriors, and full of heart."

"Very well," said Elrond. "I will bid the Mirkwood delegation stay, and I will write ahead to Thranduil and these warriors' commander to ask for their leave these next few weeks, for I would not have any elf be disobedient to his King or captain, or commit treason at my behest. Aragorn, we will ask some of our scouts ride to Mirkwood, perhaps with you, on your way to seek the Dúnedain, for you are already known to Thranduil. There, we will talk with Thranduil at length, and measure his willingness to part with his son or Captain, or send someone else in their stead. Will you support this choice, Erestor? Glorfindel? For I hold your wisdom and counsel dear."

"We do," they said.

"And you, Aragorn," said Elrond, "you will accept an elf from Mirkwood on this mission?"

"I will, without hesistation," he said.

"Then I go now to find Legolas, but it is not time to tell him why he stays; not until the decision is final, and we find out more about this Thranduilion," said Elrond. "Aragorn, I bid you seek out Boromir. Gandalf will speak with the dwarves, I trust."

"So now we have six in a company of nine," said Mithrandir, pushing back his chair so it scraped across the floor. "That is something."

The small council rose, and Erestor opened the door for his lord, and the rest of them too left the room, not feeling entirely prepared to start any of their journeys.

* * *

 _Thank you for bearing with me through this chapter._ _Next chapter will see much uplifting Legolas, Ithildim, and hobbit interaction. Please consider leaving a review!_


	3. Part 2b: Hobbits & the Ways of War

**Author's Note:** _Perian_ is the Sindarin word for hobbit or halfing, _periannath_ the plural.

 **Disclaimer:** Do not own.

* * *

 **To Make a Choice: Part 2, Hobbits & the Ways of War**

* * *

 _"War must be, while we defend our lives against a destroyer who would devour all; but I do not love the bright sword for its sharpness, nor the arrow for its swiftness, nor the warrior for his glory. I love only that which they defend..."_

 _-Faramir, "The Window on the West," The Two Towers_

* * *

 **Almost two weeks after the Council, and about three weeks before Part 1  
TA 3018, November 5** **th**

"But you taught Pippin how to climb trees like a wood-elf just yesterday!" exclaimed the perian.

"I would not say that he learned how to climb trees exactly like a wood-elf," said Legolas with a smile, dropping to his knees so he sat on his haunches and was eye-level with the small perian. Ithildim, who stood beside him, laughed merrily.

Legolas and Ithildim were outside in one of Rivendell's many courtyards, the grass which would be green in the summer was brown now with the approaching winter, but the four periannath still enjoyed the green space, though they now wore warm jackets lined with fur that Elrond had had made for them as well as heavy woolen cloaks. The two youngest stood now in front of Legolas and Ithildim, and Frodo and Sam sat on a grey bench behind them, watching the exchange with interest; Frodo leaned against Sam on occasion, but he swung his legs and looked relatively at ease.

Peregrin stood close to his cousin, arms clasped behind his back as he rocked forward and back from his heels to the balls of his feet and looked up at Ithildim whose face was far above him. His cousin's arms were crossed in front of his body and he leaned into one hip so that the other leg was popped out, showing his consternation.

"Maybe not like a wood-elf, but you taught him still!" he said.

"Aye," said Legolas, "we did teach him, and we will teach you, too."

"But it is the blade I wish to learn," he replied, bringing his feet together and dropping his arms to his sides with such vigor that the curls on his head bounced. "No one else will teach me either!"

Legolas and Ithildim looked away from the two youngest periannath when they heard Frodo's voice cut through the tension. "Meriadoc, you musn't bother Masters Legolas and Ithildim. It is not their duty to teach you how to fight. And you needn't know how to fight yet, besides, Merry!"

"A Brandybuck is always ready to learn how to protect himself and his kin," said Merry, spinning around to look at Frodo. Pippin, too, turned with him in one fluid action, unconsciously mirroring Merry's movements.

Ithildim and Legolas caught each others' eyes at this and smiled. They recognized a well-attuned team when they saw one. Perhaps, Ithildim realized, Legolas would not win this battle of wills with the periannath.

"Yes," said Frodo, "as is a Took, and a Baggins, as we know from dear Bilbo. And a Gamgee will do anything to protect those he holds dear, as we also all well know."

Mister Gamgee blushed.

Pippin turned back around now to Legolas and Ithildim, so quickly that he almost slipped on the grass, wet as it was from melted morning frost. He would have fallen straight into Legolas' face if Merry—who turned back, too, as soon as he realized Pippin had redirected his focus—had not grabbed his cloak at the hood and yanked him up.

"Then why can't we learn? We want to be useful, you see," said Pippin. "In the coming war."

Merry stood now very close to Pippin, directly behind his right shoulder, tucked like a bodyguard as his cousin confronted the wood-elves.

Ithildim felt Legolas' demeanor sadden, and he decided to leave this conversation to Legolas in its entirety. He had always been best in mentoring or comforting the younger soldiers in Mirkwood, though there were not many born who joined the army after he and Legolas themselves graduated their training.

Legolas reached out a hand each toward Merry and Pippin, inviting them to take it. They both stepped closer to him, almost suspiciously, and met his steady grey gaze. Merry's hand reached out to touch Legolas' left hand, and he shuffled forward so that he stood shoulder to shoulder with Pippin, and then Pippin's hand followed a moment later to grasp Legolas' right. Before speaking, Legolas bounced slightly to readjust the pressure on his knees as he hovered at the height of the periannath; he felt the periannath grip his hands more tightly, and Pippin seemed to almost clutch for a moment at the sleeve of the green guard tunic at his slender wrist.

"It is not that people do not want to teach you, Mister Meriadoc and Mister Peregrin," said Legolas evenly. "It is that, I imagine, those that you have asked are loathe to see any as young as you so eager to hold a blade. It is a dark time we live in, and you are yet young and happy. You think maybe that holding blades will make you more strong and braver, but there is strength and bravery in many things besides battle—kindness, and intelligence, and love for one's kin. You are already both very strong and brave in these measures."

Ithildim smiled. Legolas was very good at this. His moods were maybe quicksilver, but so also did Legolas, in some matters, have a silver-tongue.

"But you are also young and happy, and you are in the Mirkwood army," Pippin said.

"We are not as young as we seem," said Legolas, falling back off of the heels of his feet onto the ground and crossing his legs in front of him.

He tugged Merry and Pippin's hands gently to invite them to join him. They too settled cross-legged in front of Legolas, dropping his hands and scooting closer to him so they were almost all knee to knee. Ithildim dropped to his haunches behind Legolas' right shoulder.

"And Ithildim and I perhaps learned to hold a blade too early," Legolas continued, "for our home had become dark when we were but children, and we had to learn to protect ourselves and our kin, whether or not we were old enough to know exactly what we were learning."

Merry and Pippin now looked at each other and then to Legolas, and their round eyes were wide and their faces cheerless.

"That is all we want, too, in this dark time," said Merry quietly; his voice trembled. "To know that we can protect ourselves and our kin, without being a burden to anyone around us."

"I know that is what you want, and it is why I will teach you, because I know the fear that you feel now in your hearts," said Legolas. "But I will only teach you with your kinsman's permission, for he is your elder, and wiser in your ways than I."

Frodo had slid himself off the bench and stood now behind Merry. "They may learn, Master Legolas, if you are truly willing."

"Of course, we are truly willing," said Ithildim with a smile.

"Very well, then," said Legolas. "But you must listen to Ithildim and I instruct, then, not only about bladework, but the ways of war."

"Anything, Legolas!" said Pippin. "We will learn anything that will help us defeat our foes and defend our people and bring honor to our kin!"

Legolas laughed and tilted his head back in his amusement. Ithildim saw the periannath start at Legolas' change in demeanor, and then they too began to grin widely.

"That is not exactly what I mean, periannath nith," said Legolas, leveling his eyes again to the periannath. But then he frowned, realizing his linguistic slip, and realizing also that he could not for some reason—in that particular moment—remember the words Gandalf had taught him in Westron for the periannath so many years ago, and that he had heard in the dining hall that very morning, less than three hours past.

Legolas looked up at Ithildim in a moment of panic, the likes of which could only be understood by one who has ever been lost in a secondary tongue, rendered suddenly and inexplicably incapable of communicating their desired meaning. Legolas' bright eyes implored Ithildim to give him the words.

"Pair - ree - uh - noth - nith?" asked Pippin.

Ithildim considered for a moment allowing Legolas to struggle, but decided after a beat against it.

" _Hobbits_ ," said Ithildim in response to Legolas' alarmed gaze, and then he laughed at the utterly lost expression on his friend's face, and fell off his haunches in mirth so he too was on the ground, rolling onto his side. "It's _hobbits_ , Legolas," Ithildim said again, cuffing Legolas in good humor on the back of the head when he righted himself.

Then Ithildim also crossed his legs and moved himself closer to the three, so his left knee was pushed up against Legolas' right.

"Yes, we're hobbits, what about us?" asked Merry defensively, looking now from Ithildim to Legolas and back again, warily.

"Not _about_ you, Merry," said Ithildim. "Legolas forgot the word for your race in the Common Tongue. Periannath is the word for hobbits in our language."

Legolas' face flushed momentarily, but he nodded.

"I did. It has been a long time since we spoke Westron so much, and about matters South or West of our own land. Please excuse my error," said Legolas. "Let me try again: That is not exactly what I mean, young _hobbits_ ," he said with emphasis, winking at Ithildim, who laughed again and slapped Legolas on the thigh.

"Not exactly what you mean what?" said Pippin.

Apparently he had forgotten what the previous statement referred to in all his excitement; he so reminded Ithildim of a child, and Ithildim realized that he did not know if maybe Pippin was still considered a child by his race. He thought maybe he was.

"I do not mean that we will instruct you in the ways of war insomuch as the best ways to defend yourself or slay your foes, which is what I understood you to imply in your response to my request previously," said Legolas.

"Oh," said Merry and Pippin together. "Well what _do_ you mean?" finished Merry.

Ithildim leaned back now on the grass and folded his hands on his chest, stretching his legs in front of him to watch the heavy silver clouds of autumn skirt by across a brilliant blue sky. He heard Legolas shift beside him and knew he leaned in now toward the hobbits. Ithildim had heard him give this speech before, even recently to Saida's newest young novices.

"Misters Merry and Pippin," Legolas began, "It is important that you know some things about war, especially now that you have seen and survived some fighting yourself."

Ithildim heard Pippin wriggle, perhaps to edge even closer to Legolas, hoping for a story.

"There is not honor itself in bloodshed, for every creature in Middle-earth thinks his morals most pure and acts in his way accordingly," continued Legolas. "There is only honor in following through on your duty and protecting your charges, and if accomplishing those tasks requires bloodshed, then so it is. But it is not honorable to find joy in taking life simply because you have gained the skills to do so."

He paused here for effect, as he always did.

"So as you learn the ways of war, little ones," Legolas said, "you must always remember that glory does not come from the battle itself or from the blood of your enemies, but from _what_ and _for whom_ you fight. And that is how you keep going when you feel forlorn, and how you smile even in the face of evil."

Ithildim wondered if perhaps Legolas had been given this speech himself by Lieutenant Amonhir when he was young, for Amonhir had always thought Legolas rash and too emotional, and sometimes still did.

"I understand," said Merry. "Do you, Pip?"

"I think so," said Pippin, looking at his cousin. "I think he means that we will learn bladework for the sake of bladework itself, and only use it to protect ourselves and those we love when we must, and we must never take joy in using that knowledge to hurt another living creature for no reason."

Legolas smiled widely. "I think you understand very well. You are already good students! Would you like to begin to learn today?"

The hobbits exclaimed and scrambled to their feet. "Yes, Legolas! Yes, Captain!"

Legolas laughed, leaping to his feet. "Ithildim is your captain, young ones."

"Am I now?" asked Ithildim, sitting up and squinting toward Legolas' face, for the clouds had passed over and the sun was clear and climbing higher in the sky.

"You are now as you are always," said Legolas puckishly, winking at his friend before continuing in an almost inaudible voice. "I do not want responsibility for our charges' success, or whatever else they may achieve."

Ithildim stood and cuffed Legolas on the back of the head again. "You are intolerable."

"Go and find some sturdy sticks," Ithildim directed now to the hobbits. "Four of them. I know you have your own weapons, but we will not start learning with real blades or even with dulled training ones. It is how we teach and how we learned. If they are too long, we will cut them to the right length."

And with that Merry and Pippin had scrambled off in search of sticks that matched Ithildim's description, and Legolas walked now over to Frodo and Sam where they sat close together on the bench.

"If you trust us with your kinsmen, we will spend the rest of the day with them, should you like to go inside now for lunch and take some rest," Legolas said.

"We would appreciate it," said Frodo.

"Excellent! I will ask Ithildim to stay here with the hobbits, and I can escort you to the dining hall, if you desire; I would fetch a loaf of bread and cheese for a picnic out here with the young ones, anyway," said Legolas.

"Let's go then!" said Sam, blushing as he looked at the elf, for he was still in awe of elves and felt more confused by the wood-elves than he did by Elrond's folk in Rivendell. "I am always ready for a warm meal in this beautiful place!"

And so Legolas called to Ithildim and asked him to stay with Merry and Pippin, and Legolas put a hand on Frodo's shoulder as he and Frodo and Sam walked together toward Elrond's main house, where the hobbits would find their warm food and Legolas would fetch provisions for the younger hobbits.

Before they had walked even a few paces, however, Lord Elrond rose from a bench beneath a shadowed archway and intercepted them. Legolas wondered vaguely how long he had been seated there and what he had observed of his and Ithildim's foolishness as ranking officers in the Elvenking's army. Nevertheless, Legolas greeted the Lord of Imladris formally, and then Elrond was at Sam's side as they began to walk again, all the while asking the hobbits questions about their morning.

Legolas smiled to hear them recount it. He laughed merrily, even as Sam blushed, when Sam excitedly explained to Elrond exactly how he had learned a new elvish word: periannath.

Legolas decided he rather liked hobbits; he rather liked them a lot.

* * *

 _Thank you for sharing in this story with me!_


	4. Part 2c: Interviews in the Library

**Author's Note:** This chapter is longer than previous chapters. I take some liberties with Legolas' lineage in this chapter, as most of us do, but I try to keep it within the realms of canon. We will hear news from Mirkwood in the next chapter, and then move towards the end. Thank you for reading thus far!

 **Disclaimer:** Do not own.

* * *

 **Part 2c: Interviews in the Library**

* * *

 _To Mithrandir:_

 _"Take this ring, Master, for your labours will be heavy; but it will support you in the weariness you have taken upon yourself. For this is the Ring of Fire, and with it you may rekindle hearts in a world that grows chill."_

 _-C_ _írdan of the Grey Havens, "Appendix B: The Tale of Years," RotK_

* * *

 **One month after the Council of Elrond, three days before Part 1  
TA 3018, November 28** **th**

Legolas sat at a short table in the library in Elrond's main house. The table was near to a window, and midday sun poured through it as he studied a map of the Misty Mountains closely. It showed many paths through their peaks from the River Gladden in the south all the way north to one of Anduin's sources at Langwell, with notations on safe passage and the last date attempted written in the map's margins. Though the elves of Mirkwood did not leave their home often, they left often enough that this was a map Legolas wanted his folk to be able to use. So after another few minutes of considering, he flattened a roll of parchment and weighted its corners with books. Then, he dipped his pen into the ink jar at his right elbow and painstakingly began to draw.

As he copied the map, slow as a snowdrop's opening after a long winter, Legolas thought on a conversation he had had with the Lord Elrond earlier that day. He was still not entirely sure he had not offended Elrond, but his words were said and the damage done.

* * *

 **A few hours earlier, an hour after sunrise**

"How are you enjoying the library, Legolas?" Elrond asked Legolas as he pulled out a chair across the table from him and settled into it comfortably, crossing his legs.

Until that point, the library had been very quiet, with only the occasional scuff of an elven shoe, the ruffle of parchment and book pages, or the heavier step of a man breaking the silence. In his studying, however, Legolas failed to notice any of these noises around him, and so started when Lord Elrond appeared across from him, with his voice and his self and a chair. The notes Legolas had been making were splotched suddenly with ink when he jumped, and he looked up at Elrond, embarrassed to feel a blush burning from his cheeks to his ears as he met Elrond's eye.

"I am not always so easily startled!" Legolas exclaimed quietly. "My mind was far from here. I apologize for my reaction."

"There is no need to apologize," said Elrond, looking at Legolas evenly.

"I am enjoying the library very much, Lord Elrond," Legolas finally answered. "As I am sure you are aware, many of my people choose not to read or write for our tongue does not translate well to the page, and as such we do not have access to so grand a library in Mirkwood. There are only so many books the Elvenking can amass, after all! When I want something to read, I often end up perusing tactical reports, for I have read already all the lore we possess. It is not the most exciting, always, old battle strategy."

"That it is not, Legolas," Elrond said, smiling. "And what have you found of interest in the library of the Noldor so far?"

"Well, lord…" he paused, "Old battle strategy! I am in this predictable, I guess."

Elrond smiled at him, meeting Legolas' careful grey eyes as the younger elf corked the ink and laid down his pen, and then smiled back.

Legolas wiped ink off his hands onto his leggings under the table as he continued."And then, of course, some songs I wanted to learn in Westron, and some history of our kind. Though some of the more recent of it does not seem at all quite right," Legolas finished, though he startled himself with his last statement, and he hurried to add, "Though that is by no fault of yours, Lord Elrond; it is that we in Mirkwood are not so well known to our kin and loremasters in this Age, so it would not be anyone's duty to know."

Legolas had pulled his hands out from his lap and clasped them on the table now in front of him, noticing that he had only managed to smear the ink on his writing hand from his thumb all the way up his wrist, and probably, he thought, make a mess of his breeches.

"It would not be our duty to know what?" Elrond asked calmly, tilting his head in interest.

"Well," said Legolas slowly, feeling quite uncomfortable now that he had breeched this topic with one of the most learned beings in Middle-earth. "The…" he paused looking for the right word, "The _culture_ of the Greenwood."

"I have not traveled there since Thranduil moved his people even further north, almost 2000 years ago," said Elrond.

"Yes," Legolas said thoughtfully. "Never in my life did I meet an elf from another land in my own halls. Except for some traders from our kin in Lorien, from whom we are otherwise quite wholly estranged..."

Legolas seemed to remember to whom he was speaking, and he sighed. "But we are just Silvan elves, and I don't imagine I therefore have much to tell you that you do not already know."

" _Just_ Silvan elves?" asked Elrond, raising an eyebrow.

"Yes. We are creatures of our forest, and Mirkwood's Silvan are said by most to be rustic and simple, moved like the wind to wander and run and feel, which I do not think is a bad way to be," Legolas murmured, looking down at the hands clasped before him, more used to holding bows than paintbrushes, to grasping tree limbs than gripping pens. "It has been many years since I was so deluded to believe my people as clever as your Noldor, or even I as cunning as my King."

Legolas met Elrond's eyes and tilted his head to the right so that his honey hair spilled over his shoulder, and he frowned for a moment. "But I am not embarrassed by us," he finally said. "Even here, in this very different place."

Elrond sat motionless and studied the wood-elf's face, who did not drop his gaze as Elrond looked at him.

"And why should you be embarrassed to be a wood-elf?" Elrond asked.

"I am not embarrassed by it," Legolas said, reading Elrond's reactions in his brows as he spoke," but if I were, it would be because we are thought by both elves and other races alike to be disobedient and dim, sometimes craven or thoughtless, and naïve, yet _wild_ and _tempestuous_ and _dangerous_ still—and thus incapable of ruling ourselves without wiser and more refined intervention."

Elrond glanced almost guiltily to the shelves behind Legolas as he spoke, but Legolas waved a dismissive hand, and for a moment Elrond saw a flash of a not-yet King set out from Doriath to the wider world so many millenia ago.

"I had read all that before I came to your library, my Lord," said Legolas. "I grew up, after all, with a small collection of books, selected by my Sindarin kin. I just read here more of the same."

Elrond nodded. "And what about that which you read here is wrong?"

Legolas frowned. "It is not wrong, necessarily, just contradictory. One account says Oropher's Sindarin elves took on the culture and language of the Silvan elves and thus disregarded much of their own; another says King Thranduil speaks only Sindarin in his home, which was maybe true for a time—I do not know; and another yet says that the elves in Mirkwood and Lorien in this Age no longer speak a Silvan dialect at all! I know not of Lorien elves, but I know what I speak, and what we speak with our people, and on the field with our troops."

"I see," said Elrond. He leaned now toward Legolas. "And what about you?"

Legolas looked at Elrond quite wholly in the face and did not speak for several moments. He considered the question. Finally Legolas leaned back in his chair and spoke.

"That question has many possible meanings, Lord Elrond," Legolas finally said, slipping his hands back into his lap.

"You are perceptive," said Elrond. "Let me ask it in another way, more directly: what are _you_ , Legolas?"

Legolas considered Elrond again before speaking. While Legolas had not always held his silence so well, he had learned over the years to slow down his speech and allow room for private deliberation. When Legolas opened his mouth this time to speak, his words seemed reflective and intentional, but it sounded also to Elrond as if Legolas had answered this question many times before, but perhaps not ever with the answer he gave now.

"When I was younger, I thought one of my lieutenants—at the time a Captain; Captain Amonhir—did not like me. I knew he called me to our Commander 'Silvan Oropher,' and I was very rash then, and defensive, and I did not understand my own history, nor find it funny. I was more fickle in my moods then than I am now, and I floundered as I learned to take and give direction; I was overwhelmed easily to distraction by the song of the woods, but leapt into battle with a yearning for justice and a loyalty to my people that startled my superiors.

"I had a lot to learn, but even then I was not craven or thoughtless or dim, nor naïve, for I grew up in a darkness that I had no choice but to fight. I was as joyful then as yet I am, but less wise, for I was so young, and I could not handle my lieutenant's unbridled criticism without Ithildim's calming presence at my side. After an adventure with Mithrandir before the Watchful Peace, that Lieutenant and I reconciled our differences; I grew quite a bit, and we were able to begin our relationship anew, this time with respect. That is all to say, my Lieutenant is a wise and watchful Silvan, and he used what he knew of himself and what he knew of me to force me to grow, for I could not have survived Mirkwood another year as I was then."

Legolas stopped speaking, but Elrond caught his eyes again. "Tell me more, Legolas."

He looked at Elrond silently, and then said, "All right."

Legolas leaned into the table slightly so that his upper arms pushed against its edge, and his hair trailed the wood as he began to speak again.

"To me, the wood-elves are the moon and the sun—always shifting and turning and changing, showing parts of themselves here and there—while the Sindar are the quiet stars, ever guiding, ever steady, ever true. It is strange, then, to me, that wood-elves love best the stars. But that was not your question," Legolas fell quiet for a moment, eyes on his notes and abandoned pen.

"But I want to hear more of this answer," said Elrond.

Legolas felt nervous, but he was in this Lord's house and he would not disrespect him in his hall, so he took a deep breath and complied.

"My father did not marry until my grandfather moved north, right before Oropher passed to the Hall of Mandos in the last great battle of the Second Age," Legolas continued. "My mother was the moon and my father was the stars, but I was neither: I was an amalgamation of their peoples, and they did not know what to do with me. I was the second child, and I grew much wilder much faster than their first—or at least I have been told—and then my mother was lost to me when I was still young, and it became cold to grow up in a house of stars when I was born of the moon and so like the sun.

"And even with both of those worlds within me, I cannot say that I am not still dangerous and tempestuous and wild, as the books would say of my kind," Legolas said. "But there is much the books do not say about me and mine, much that is good and gentle and wise, and oh! oh so faithful.

"So I am, I guess," Legolas finished, "Sindarin and Silvan, though maybe most Silvan at heart, but I am with my whole self and my whole soul a wood-elf, and a citizen of Mirkwood, and a child of Middle-earth."

Legolas dropped his eyes from Elrond to study the book in front of him on the table.

"So that is my answer to your question," he said. "If we are speaking about culture at all, that is."

Elrond was leaned back in his chair with his arms crossed upon his chest and a faint smile pulling at the corners of his lips when Legolas looked up.

"Have I offended you?" asked Legolas.

"No," said Elrond quietly, "you have enlightened me. For one so young and Silvan," he winked here, "you are wise beyond your years."

Legolas laughed lightly, lifting his hands again from his lap to fold them on the table. "Now _that_ I am not often told!"

"Indeed?" said Elrond with a smile, and Legolas nodded. "Well, perhaps before you leave my company you will teach me some more about Mirkwood's wood-elves, and your home."

"If you wanted to learn more, I would tell you," Legolas looked down at the book in front of him, and the notes he had taken on woodland battle in his own handwriting to his right.

"Lord Elrond," Legolas said now, almost meekly, his eyes still considering his notes.

Elrond uncrossed his legs and looked at Legolas evenly. "You wish to know when you will be allowed to part from this place."

Legolas for a moment almost looked scared, but then he nodded.

"I have a duty to my king and army, and a company to lead. I cannot stay away from Mirkwood much longer while my soldiers suffer Sauron's evil," Legolas said, looking now at Elrond with such despair and conflict in his face that Elrond leaned across the table, arm extended, to brush a lock of errant hair from Legolas' eyes. Then Elrond put a healer's hand on the younger elf's temple to ease his discomfort.

"No one will suffer Sauron's evil for much longer, Legolas," said Elrond. "For we will either succeed as one, or come maybe to the end of all things. And for my part, I know that wherever you are as this war rages on, you will be brave and true and as loyal to your comrades as ever you were."

Legolas looked at Elrond sharply at this—not sure he wanted to understand the implications of his statement—and his eyes narrowed pensively. Elrond rasied his other hand to the other side of Legolas' head and held his gaze, dark and light grey eyes close together and constant; Elrond could hear Legolas' steady breaths as he spoke his next words.

"You will be well, son of Thranduil," said Elrond. "And you will soon understand."

And then Elrond dropped his hands from the younger elf's face, placed a hand on his shoulder and gently squeezed it, and then stood from his chair and was gone from the library.

Legolas' head felt clear, and his mood light, so he closed the books he had opened, stacked his parchment, looked around the room to see if he could get away with his next move, and then slipped out the window. Legolas hit the ground in a crouch and sprang into a run, making for the walls that held the forests from Elrond's valley, and seeking a haven, for just a few hours, from this delicate political world of secrecy and half-truths, those things which he never had, and never would, really understand.

* * *

Legolas drew now the borders of Rivendell on his own map, and labeled it thusly, before blowing on the ink and leaning back, waiting for it to dry before continuing. He was startled for the second time that day to look up and see someone sitting silently in the chair in front of him, the very same one Elrond had sat in earlier.

"Mithrandir!" said Legolas. "What brings you here?"

"You!" said Mithrandir. "I wanted to talk to you about the Fellowship."

"Whatever for?" asked Legolas, though he was beginning to think more and more that he knew why he kept being sought out by Elrond at odd times.

"Gimli son of Gloín is joining the quest for the dwarves, and Boromir of Gondor for the men," said Mithrandir. "There is still much debate over who to send for the elves. Aragorn wants someone pure of heart."

Legolas gave a short laugh, "And good luck to him in that endeavor!"

"Would you go?" asked Mithrandir quickly but quietly, barely more than a whisper.

"Would I _what_?" asked Legolas sharply. He hissed as he realized he had blotted the map with the palm of his hand as he watched Mithrandir talk. A bit of blurry Tengwar was now printed backward on the heel of Legolas' palm.

Mithrandir grinned. "Would you go with me on the quest?"

Legolas looked at the ink on his hand, and then his ruined map, and then at Mithrandir, who watched him closely. He watched Mithrandir back for several seconds, absolutely still, before responding.

"I would go," Legolas finally said.

"Hm," said Mithrandir. Then: "Who would you select for the elves?"

"Me?" asked Legolas, with a smile that reminded Mithrandir of a much younger person. "I… I do not know. I would perhaps send someone mighty and storied and brave, or someone very loyal, with much kindness and patience and warmness of soul, someone with such natural leadership, like Ithildim. I would send perhaps Ithildim if I would not worry for his return."

Gandalf took off his hat and looked across the table at Legolas. "Those are good reasons to send Ithildim."

"Are you sending Ithildim?" Legolas asked suddenly, with a surprise. "I am his second and I would have to lead then alone. But if it is what is best for Middle-earth then it is what is best for me," he finished.

Mithrandir shook his head. "No, I do not think we are sending Ithildim."

Legolas stared again at Mithrandir without speaking, unsure of what to say.

Mithrandir ignored Legolas' eyes and instead pushed his chair back and stood. He held out a hand to the elf across the table from him.

"Will you come with me?" Mithrandir asked.

Legolas pushed his chair back a little too loudly for the library. "Will I _what_?"he whispered urgently.

"Will you help an old man to lunch and keep his company for a while," Mithrandir said with a smile, holding out his arm for Legolas to take as he rounded the table.

"Ai Elbereth," Legolas muttered softly, taking Mithrandir's arm. "You will make me old too soon with all your twisted words, Mithrandir."

Mithrandir smiled. "You are a delight to see react."

Legolas guided Mithrandir through the library's open archway and when he threw back his head and laughed it was like sunshine.

Mithrandir smiled as Legolas began to talk to him about the beauty he saw in the carved benches of Imladris, and the great joys he had found in hobbits, and the annoyed nature of the most recent missive from Commander Lostariel. His voice, babbling comfortingly like a brook, made Mithrandir's heart swell.

There was not on his arm the mightiest warrior, nor the wisest elf, nor one who would by his actions alone change the future of Middle-earth—there was not a perfect being, if ever one existed. But there was there a light heart and a kind soul, and laughter that could draw anyone from the edge of despair and send them forth with confidence to face whatever foe might come.

Mithrandir let go of Legolas' arm and patted him on the back when they reached the dining hall, and then he called over Bilbo and introduced him to the elf. Mithrandir watched Legolas' reaction with delight, as Bilbo finally met a child of the Elvenking.

* * *

 _Thank you for your time. Next we enter part 3! Please consider leaving a review._


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